Mafioso on the Run

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Mafiosi stories are a widespread topic in books, TV shows and movies. As we all know they exist, we may not be surprised to randomly meet one. Still, it feels completely different from the movies. Even if the story can be quite similar. Here, an anonymous mafioso sits down for a talk with Sensa Nostra.

Okay, I’ll tell you my story, but this is between you and me, understand?

I first arrived in Europe when I was twelve or thirteen. I crossed the Mediterranean sea on a raft with other unknown persons, without a clear idea of where the cruise would drive me. I was thrown into the streets of some random Turkish city. I considered myself lucky, because I had survived the cruise. My family stayed in Lebanon—they did not have enough money to get on board—and I have not seen them since. Well, there I was. I finally managed to enter Europe. I was craving a new life, but Greece lowered my expectations.

I lived there for twelve fucking years. And fucked I was, more than once. The ID papers I bought there were so fake that I was sent to jail at the first check. I lost all my money to the swindlers, so I was in a poor state when I got out. There was no other solution but to start working on the streets—an illegal immigrant can only do illegal jobs. I managed to get by with some activities, but these were the worst solutions. It was even more likely that I get caught by the police, and sent to jail again. The only people I knew were the ones who stole from me, so I had no one to resort to.

By chance, I befriended a guy who was willing to help. He got me a job in a real company, a perfume shop. They would sell Dolce & Gabbana, Armani, all these fancy fashion fragrances. I worked off stage in the backshop, unloading the trucks and watching out the reserve. I was a discreet and honest worker, going unnoticed by the police but useful to the company. Having a normal job was the first step to living a decent life. Finally, I was able to pay for a room and food.

I was grateful to the guy who gave me that steady situation; this is quite rare for an illegal resident. I decided to devote myself to work and to do my best. One day, I saw a guy stealing from the reserve on the surveillance cameras. I immediately reported it to my friend, because I couldn’t call the police. Neither would he. He gave me some more money, along with a fire-new gun.

This is the way I understood how the business was ruled. Inside, it was shit, it was mafia. I figured out why they could employ someone like me, and what they could use me for. Once you are an outlaw, there is no limit to what you can do. My friend had pulled me into another society, one that was willing to count me among its members. It was not like I never did illegal things, but even if this took me a step further into crime, I shared the experience with them.

Instead of watching out the reserve, let’s say that I had to protect it and its owners. I worked along with some other guys. We had duties; we would leave to places for some days or more, and do what we had been asked. I was good at it, and my friend was happy with my work. I gradually climbed the ladder, and my situation improved significantly.

The mafia had several shops—they used their bank accounts to launder money. I ended up with some shops of my own, three to be precise. It was the dolce vita. I was working one week every month, and I had big cars, a house, and money. It was not meant to last, because I was a tramp…

I should have learned not to trust people: my friend wanted me dead. He made up that I stole 60 000e, but I was just doing business. He had more cars, shops, and money than me, so I don’t know why he felt threatened. He sent hitmen to assassinate me. They came one evening when I was in a bar with some friends. One tried to stab me with a knife, and he missed, but I did not. We were all drunk and it was a complete mess, so we fought against them.

I collapsed and woke up at the hospital. I was still alive, so they had no reason to give up, and it was only a matter of time before they found me. I escaped from the hospital as soon as I woke up, and by chance, a friend of mine living nearby was able to hide me in her flat. I actually never planned to live in Greece, so it was the perfect moment to disappear. I went to the airport, but my old friend was really eager to get rid of me. He was so powerful that the cops would open doors for him. I got arrested before getting on board.

I spent fourteen years in prison. It has nothing to do with the real world, but you need to understand the rules. You find hanged guys in their cells, but no one truly commits suicide. When I got out, I had lost everything. I had to start from scratch again. I managed to leave Greece without trouble. Now, I don’t have enough money to pay for a house and I make a living out of dealing cocaine. I can’t say where. It’s too dangerous for me.